The eye. The bone. The skin.
Sometimes you see a flinch, and sometimes a soul.
Everyone is searching, through and through.
But nobody finds.
We're engulfed.
The faces on the papers.
'Remembered by loved ones', it says.
It fills the page.
Everything else is hollow.
Kind eye. Thin bone. Tired skin.
Her hands, weary, slaps the sandwich together.
Her chapped lips, bites into it.
She heaves.
In her grey room, that stream of light.
The music on the radio.
The yellow stain on the sheets.
Her touch, long forgotten touch.
Her song.
Her morning breath.
Her torn fingers.
Their bodies entwine, broken currents.
But she's gone.
What was left of her is gone.
In love with the girl sitting across the table.
In love with the girl sitting across the table.
